


Sleep, Pretty Darling

by amine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Insomnia, M/M, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:17:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8842645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amine/pseuds/amine
Summary: "Perhaps his insomnia could be attributed to the fact that England was with him and visiting for a reason that had nothing to do with politics. His excitement was too much to be contained by sleep."





	

America considered himself a morning person. He was up with the sun and raring to go, except for the occasional Saturday morning when he'd sleep past noon and be completely unapologetic. There were also the times when staying in bed with England was an absolute necessity, and even if England pretended to protest, it was obvious that he felt the same.

However, waking up at 3:30 in the morning was hardly America's idea of starting the day off bright and early. Perhaps his insomnia could be attributed to the fact that England was with him and visiting for a reason that had nothing to do with politics. His excitement was too much to be contained by sleep.

England, of course, was sprawled on top of his chest, fast asleep. England never had any trouble sleeping, and especially after a night of vigorous lovemaking, he was dead to the world. America envied him and his ability to sleep so easily. It came with age, America supposed, and with that thought America decided that youthful vitality was worth the cost of sleep.

However, it was hardly fair that England was able to sleep soundly while America lay wide awake, alone except for the steady sound of England's breathing. If England was awake, America would at least have someone to talk to until he fell asleep.

With that in mind, America moved the arm that was around England's waist to gently shake his shoulder.

“Hey, England. You awake?”

England stirred, brows furrowing, and let out a breath before he settled again. America watched for a moment as England nuzzled his chest, oblivious to the fact that he was doing such a thing while asleep, then went still. Such a blatant brush-off was something America wouldn't take.

America took great care in sitting up, taking England with him as he did, and he paused to give England a silent apology before he pushed him off the bed.

“England, you awake?!” he asked in a loud voice as England hit the floor with a crash.

After a string of curse words, England scrambled to his feet, eyes wide with confusion and anger. He fixed his eyes on America, and his scowl deepened.

“Hi, sweetheart!” America smiled in response to England's dark look, and he tried to hook his arms around England and pull him back into bed. England stayed in place, pushing America's off of him.

“America. Kindly explain the reason why I wound up on the floor.” His tone was even in a way that meant he was trying to keep explosive rage in check. He folded his arms and lifted his chin, which was probably meant to intimidate America, but it did nothing of the sort.

America shrugged, his smile sheepish. “Well, you know. I couldn't sleep and didn't want to be alone.”

England's scowl faded into a look of surprise, and he lowered his arms. After staring for several long moments, England's expression then changed to something warm and fond as he crawled back onto the bed.

“My love...” England said in a soft voice and cupped America's cheeks. For one beautiful moment America thought that England wasn't angry with him and would actually comfort him in his time of need, but America really should have known that England reacting in such a way was a trap. England's gentle touch became painful when he pinched America's cheeks, then pulled on them. “If you _ever_ do that again, I promise I will utterly destroy you.”

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, all right! All right! Uncle, damn it!” America squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, and finally England let go. America reached up to rub his sore cheeks and give England his patented kicked puppy pout.

“Now that we've settled that matter, I'm going back to sleep. Please refrain from pushing me off the bed again.” England crawled under the sheets on the empty side of America's bed. The sight of England's bare back facing him was too much for America to take.

“Hey! Don't go back to sleep!” America quickly reached for England, ignoring the hands that tried to swat him away, and snuggled up behind England. England grumbled, and America kissed his shoulder in apology. “C'mon, England. At least talk with me until I fall asleep?”

England remained rigid, but at length he rolled onto his back and let out a weary sigh. “And what would you like to talk about?”

“I don't know. Stuff.” America released his hold on England so he could also roll onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, and when England didn't say anything, America knew he had to come up with _something_ or England would fall asleep in an instant. “I found all of those old Beatles albums you sent me back in the 60s.”

England let out a snort. “Did you? You mean when you were so insistent that 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' topping your music charts was just a fluke and wouldn't last?”

“Hey, how was I supposed to know that the girls would go wild for those crazy moptops and their curiously sexy accents? Besides, it was my guys influencing your guys that started it.”

“I'm sure you haven't forgotten that it wasn't simply the Beatles who were part of your 'British Invasion', America,” England replied, conveniently ignoring America's last remark.

America, of course, had been swept up in Beatlemania and the British Invasion back when it began, but that had been a trying decade, and his strained relationship with England had only exacerbated the problem. Bringing up the many problems they'd had back then wasn't what America wanted to talk about when he was now with England, relatively happy, and they were both naked in bed together.

England's irritation seemed to be fading, however, and America rolled onto his side to grin at him.

“How could I forget that blow to my pride? Well, at least I had the Beach Boys and Motown. And Hendrix. Who, you know, you guys loved first.”

“...I do not deny his talent.”

“I still have one of his guitars. Hey, speaking of that, you still play guitar, right? We should jam some time while you're here.”

“As long as you promise not to insist on fifteen minute solos.”

“Me? Never! Anyway, there's a lot of stuff I want to do with you while you're here. Most important is that you're going to see a baseball game. It's the great American pastime, so I won't accept any complaints!”

England let out a short bark of a laugh. “Oh, please. I can hardly contain my excitement.”

“That's what I thought! We'll get hot dogs, since I know you're really good at cramming those down, and sit in the stands with everyone else. It's not the same experience if you're in one of the private boxes.” America turned back to look at the ceiling, already giddy with excitement at the concept of taking England to see a baseball game with him, something that England had managed to avoid for years.

“Are you ready to sleep now, America? We won't be doing any of these things if we are awake all night.” England yawned audibly.

“I'm not an old man like you, England. I can't fall asleep just like that.” America turned to scowl at England.

“Well, when you put it like that, I suppose I'm left with no choice...” England sat up, and America also sprang into a sitting position, afraid that England was going to sleep in a guest room where he wouldn't be disturbed. Instead, America froze when England's arms were around him, pulling him against his chest.

“What are you—”

“Hush, lie still.” England’s tone was firm, but quiet.

America relaxed when England's fingers started stroking his hair. England really liked to do that sort of thing—coddle him when he was upset or in need of a little gentle reassurance. Of course, England would deny it forever, but America wouldn't bring it up, either, lest England become too embarrassed to ever do it again.

It was when England started singing that America's eyes fluttered shut. England had a nice voice, no matter what he was singing. Since the goal was to lull America to sleep, his voice was smooth and soothing—something that America would be happy to listen to forever if England wasn't accomplishing his goal of helping America fall asleep.

America didn't even notice when England started to lower them both back onto the bed, and he only vaguely registered the lips on his forehead. It was England's voice that he was focusing on, and that was what followed him into sleep.


End file.
